Fate Fell Short
by HHHereComesTrouble
Summary: Taking the train to work is routine for Paul Levesque. It's part of any ordinary morning. There's just one problem though: this is not an ordinary morning...HHH/Steph.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Eternally sighing because...yes, new story. Sigh, sigh, s_igh_. But my goal is to try and update it every week because I already have a few chapters written, they're just waiting to be posted. And to anyone that knows me: judge me on the title, we all know it was bound to happen at some point! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this first chapter, and reviews are awesome as always. :)

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** Chapter 1**

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It all starts on a Monday.

And this Monday is no different than any other Monday in the sense that it follows the inexplicably short Sunday and precedes the all but irrelevant Tuesday. The weekend has passed like all weekends do, and the fun and games are over, but of course not forgotten. Hangovers, some more brutal than others, linger with the majority of the people bumming around the station on this ordinary morning. Underneath the immaculate suits and the flashy ties, each and every one of them is dreading what's to come. They're all praying that this day goes by somewhat quickly so that they can return to their homes and crawl back into the beds they were forced to detach themselves from.

Paul Levesque is no exception. He stands there idly, hands in pockets, typical smirk on face. His long blonde strands are pulled back into a slick ponytail, and in this lighting, his eyes come across as a mixed hue of green and brown. However, there's also that renowned look of exhaustion prevalent in his features. The past two days of freedom have certainly taken their toll on him, and all he wishes for is to get this day started, because the sooner it starts, the sooner it can end. Drumming his foot against the concrete ground lightly, his eyes dart to his gold wristwatch for what seems like the hundredth time this hour. He rolls them dryly upon seeing that not even a minute – a mere sixty seconds – has passed since the last time he checked. No surprise there though. As usual, the train is running bloody late, and with his luck, he'll walk into his meeting just in time to receive the infamous Monday morning lashing out from his boss.

He sighs knowing there's truly nothing in his power he can do about it. If there was some other, more efficient form of transportation that would carry him into the city every morning, he would be all over that, in a heartbeat he would. He'd given up attempting to drive through New York City work traffic years ago, for it quite frankly wasn't worth the stress and aggravation. So until someone invents flying cars or anything of that preposterous nature, it looks like he'll remain a faithful train passenger. It's unfortunate, but that's life. Even if nine out of ten times it's behind on schedule, at least it gets him where he needs to be, and at the end of the day, that's all that matters, right? Getting from Point A to Point B?

"What time's the train supposed to arrive?"

The rather quiet voice severs his thoughts, and at first he doesn't think he's the one being addressed, but he turns around to find that his assumption is wrong. Before him stands a tall brunette, and he has to admit he's never seen her around these parts before, though it appears she'd fit in just fine. Dressed from head to toe in all black, she has a piercing blue stare and lips that are shaped into a slight crescent, almost resembling a smile. Paul shoots her a polite grin before checking his watch once more, the gesture being mostly for show this time.

"Forty minutes ago," he chuckles.

"Hmmm." She pauses, looks to the empty tracks for a moment, and then her eyes return to his face again. "Is it always this late?"

The woman is seemingly deep in thought as she speaks, almost as if she's making calculations in her head. She's also murmuring words unintelligibly under her breath, but Paul doesn't bother questioning the anomalous behavior. New York is full of people like her, people who are crazy with no explanation needed, and for some reason unknown, he's just a magnet for these types. Nonetheless, he will be courteous because that's the kind of guy he is.

"Yes, it usually is late, every single day actually. Do you work in the city?"

He's trying to make small talk, and it's a pathetic attempt at that, but whatever. Maybe he's looking to kill time until the train disembarks, or maybe he's just hoping that luring her into some completely random conversation will stop her from acting so...odd.

For the second time today, he's wrong.

"Don't get on," she says abruptly, dodging his question entirely.

Her tone is stern, and she burns a hole through him with those…crazy, blue eyes. Yes, he now officially has her pegged as crazy because that's the only justifiable word that comes to mind at this point. Her rosy complexion has faded, causing her to look whiter than a ghost, but it's that stare he can't get past. It's so icy…vindictive even. He doesn't like to judge before getting to know, but it really only takes a few seconds to know that it's best he keeps his distance from this one. She's quite weird, and this is coming from someone who's seen the weirdest of the weird. So accordingly, Paul takes a cautious step backwards and wrinkles his forehead in sheer confusion, wondering whether it would be best to call the cops or sprint as fast as he can in a different direction.

To his surprise, but not hers, he selects neither option. Instead he starts to talk, though he can't recall his brain consenting this action.

"What did you…"

Paul doesn't make much progress with his sentence before she interjects.

"Don't get on," she repeats, her tone somehow more grave than the prior one. The strange thing is she's not even pleading with him, she's _instructing_ him. Demanding that he do as she says since she's apparently superior to him. He's aware that New Yorkers are blunt and often times rude, but _this _kind of thing just doesn't happen every day. His facial expression must reflect the astonishment he feels on the inside, because she parts her lips to elaborate. "Don't believe me? Fine, don't listen to me. Get on that train if you're so inclined, but I can assure you it will be the last train you ever board."

"Alright…I'm getting the police," he mumbles, shaking his head incredulously as he reaches for his phone. She doesn't grab his arm in a violent manner, and she doesn't even try to knock the device out of his hand like he presumes a crazy person would do. She simply watches him with all the composure in the world, observing as his fingers start to tap away at the keys frantically. When she finally speaks up again, her tone is so unusually serene, and he can't fathom why.

"That's unnecessary."

There's a short silence. This is exactly the kind of shit he _would_ encounter on a Monday morning. He just would.

He's not even sure how to reply because no matter what words fall from his mouth, she'll likely just reiterate her previous statement in that same imposing tone. So he blurts out the first thing he can think of, the only thing that makes sense to him right now.

"You're insane," Paul tells her. He knows it, and he's fairly certain she knows it just as well. Thankfully though, he's only one button away from initiating the call that will put an end to this madness.

"I've been to a few asylums, yes," she laughs, and he doesn't know if that was intended to be a joke, so he doesn't chortle, not that it was funny anyways. "But that's beyond the point. Don't bother calling any cops. I'll be on my way now, and I don't want you to waste your battery. Besides, if you do decide to get on that train – though I recommend you don't – you won't have to worry about seeing me ever again."

And with that, she saunters off, leaving him standing there all alone like before, only now he's more dazed and bemused than ever. He doesn't get the chance to dwell on what all this could mean or if it even means anything when the thunderous roar of the train pulling up snaps him out of his thoughts. It's the same train as always, the same track as well, yet something seems so different, so out of place. The other passengers think nothing of it though. They have no reason to, for they weren't the ones just approached by some psycho lady implying obscure fates. Most of the people have phones pressed to their ears, and they thoughtlessly walk ahead without glancing back, for this is purely another component of their daily routine. So why is it that Paul can't seem to bring himself to board? Does he actually _believe_ her nonsense? He…doesn't know. Yet. It's almost as if his body is frozen, every muscle paralyzed and lifeless as the stranger's cryptic warning echoes in his head.

_Get on that train if you're so inclined, but I can assure you it will be the last train you ever board._

So after everyone is situated in their regular spots and the doors are sealed shut, it departs the station just as it does every other day.

Only today, on this Monday morning, Paul Levesque is not on the train.

Approximately seven minutes later, aforementioned train runs off the track, goes up in flames, and it will soon be determined that there are no survivors of the crash.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I know I said I'd update every week, but I was in Alaska for a while, didn't have my laptop with me, and the internet available was fucking expensive anyways. Then I was planning to post last night, but of course, RAW had me distracted for reasons that are epic and obvious. So here it is finally, and big thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. Enjoy, and if you haven't seen the segments from last night, go watch them right now! :)

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**Chapter 2**

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Insane.

That's what he concludes all of this to be as he continues to stare at the muted TV monitor. Insane. Utterly and exceptionally insane. There's no explanation for what happened, no rhyme or reason behind it whatsoever, and truthfully, he's not even sure he wants an explanation should it exist. Hearing it would merely make him sicker to his stomach, if that's even viable at this point. So the only thing he can do is try to keep his heart from beating out of his chest as the news program broadcasts live footage of the wreck. He attempts to take it in little by little, but the attempt is feeble, and the scene comes crashing in on him all at once. The black smoke, the crimson flames, the train lying broken and battered on its side. Cringing, he scans the words projected at the bottom of the screen. Railroad. Crash. Fire. Casualties. _Many _casualties. He's trying to remember how to breathe, but his lungs won't seem to function properly. He inhales and exhales profoundly, yet the oxygen evades him. Really it's his_ sanity_ that evades him. A rapid shiver shoots down his spine. He could have been one of those many. He _would_ have been one without a doubt had it not been for…

His mind goes blank.

He doesn't even know her name simply because she never told him. But that may or may not be a good thing given that he's still unaware of what role she plays in this situation. She cannot be trusted, and it's best that he's not associated with someone like that. Still, he's only human, and he can't impede the questions from flooding his head. The first and most obvious hit him first. Did _she_ cause the wreck? Is she perhaps part of some radical organization targeting the country? Did she have a debt to pay to one of the passengers and _this_ was her solution? Is she a world renowned criminal scuttling from authorities?

But what if, and this is a big _what if_…what if none of those are true? What if she's not a terrorist and she doesn't owe money and she's not an international criminal? Then what?

Paul buries his head in his hands, groaning loudly. A few hours ago, his biggest concern was enduring work and simply making it through this day with a few cups of coffee as fuel. Now – never mind that he already called in sick, causing his boss to rage via telephone because of the short notice – now he's trying to come to terms with the fact that he could have died in a train wreck, and on top of that, there's that woman…whoever she is. He shifts on the sofa and sighs. He had suspected something wasn't normal the moment she walked over to him, and well, he was right to be suspicious. A walking red flag, that's what she had been. Everything about her seemed a little off, a little out of place, and thinking back, he should have notified the police while he had the chance. The woman is either crazy or malevolent, or a unique combination of the two, and those are the types that need to be locked up.

In an asylum.

He grudgingly reflects back to that point in time, the image of her ambling over to him instilled in his brain like new. He can see her so clear in his head, almost like she's really in there, and just like before, she's solely wearing black. Black coat, black jeans, black boots, black umbrella collapsed in her pocket, black everything. All black. As if she were planning to attend a…

Oh, God.

A layer of goose bumps now coats his skin, and his stomach twists in knots as he reaches for the phone, but his fingers can't seem to follow the signal his brain sends out. They won't work. They aren't working, and thus he's beginning to panic. But why is he panicking? What good does that do? He reminds himself that this doesn't involve him at all. He doesn't know her personally, probably hasn't even said more than twenty-five words to her. It's not like he _helped_ her execute mass slaughter. And no one can hold that sliver of a conversation that was about essentially nothing against him. That's not how things work.

But the adverse reality is…this _does _involve him. That woman could have approached any individual waiting in that station this morning. There were dozens of others, people who looked a hell of a lot more sociable than him, people who were even sporting a smile in spite of it being Monday morning. But she didn't choose them, she chose him. This is where he asks himself that one burning question again. _Why_ did she choose him and only him to save? If she's really part of some ruthless terrorist plot, wouldn't she have let everybody perish and think nothing of it? What about him is so special anyways? Value isn't a term that comes to mind when he thinks of himself. He works as an executive in marketing. He's single, he doesn't have kids, he's never won the lottery, and hell, he doesn't even _play _the lottery…

His eyes are now wandering as that thought ceases, and they search the room thoroughly, desperate for a distraction. He doesn't want to think about this anymore. He wants to think about something else. Anything else.

After a few discouraging seconds, they finally settle on some travel magazine with a picture of Niagara Falls on the cover. _Book Your Dream Vacation Today! _Yes, perfect, that's it! No, not necessarily Niagara Falls or any other kind of vacation destination at all, but he does have to go somewhere. He has to go somewhere far away, somewhere that she'll never find him, somewhere without trains…

So Paul unwaveringly heads for his bedroom, packs anything and everything he might need into one suitcase, and then he makes a beeline towards the front door. He makes sure to lock it after it clicks shut behind him, though he's not sure when he'll return, or _if_ he'll return even. Logically taking everything into consideration, he has the money to stay at a temporary place until he can sort everything out for himself. He'll be fine. Everything will be fine, he tells himself. The declaration is short-lived.

Because as soon as he starts loading his things into his car, a voice sounds in the wake of his trail.

"Sticking to automobiles for awhile, I see."

That's when Paul freezes in his tracks at once and even closes his eyes momentarily to see if this is all in his head, which he really hopes it is. But nope, when he finally musters the courage to turn around, there she is in plain sight, just the way he remembers her. She's leaning against a light post nonchalantly, arms folded over her chest, a smirk threatening to overtake her lips. Her quiet cackle still echoes in the faint wind, and quite frankly, the dwindling hum nauseates him.

"What are you doing here?" Paul snaps in his classic brusque tone. Forcefully, he swings his car door shut and distances himself from the vehicle. He's already starting to close the gap between them, but that doesn't mean he can't retreat and make a mad dash for it at any moment.

"You know," the brunette begins, examining her manicured nail distractedly. "It's usually a good idea to start a conversation with a, 'Hey,' or a, 'How are you?' So why don't we try this again, shall we? And since I'm the more polite one of us two, you can go first."

"Did you follow me here?" he demands to know, ignoring just about every word she spewed.

"Follow you? Of course I didn't, that's what shadows are for."

"Pretty sure you followed me."

"Did not," she chirps, and he still doesn't believe a word she says. How can he when he's so sure she's lying through her teeth? "Look, you and I could go back and forth all day like little kindergarteners, but I'm sure you have places to be, so let me make this easy for you." Pause. Exhale. Then her lips turn up into a snarky smile, a smile that makes him feel more than uneasy inside. "You're welcome."

"I never thanked you," he automatically retorts.

It's funny, he never thought someone would save his life, but someone did. And he'd always thought that if by some chance there was this unlikely savior, he would want to repay them in every way fathomable, make it up to them until the end of time, but funnily enough…he doesn't. Mostly because he knows hardly anything about this woman, and from what he's seen thus far, the less he knows, the better. But while he's on the topic of said woman, how in the _hell _did she find out where he lives since she claims that she didn't follow him? It seems she's not so much a savior as she is a curse.

"You will thank me eventually, I'm sure of it. Maybe you'll even want to be friends, who knows…"

Her voice slowly trails off into silence, her smile taunting him as it does, but Paul pipes up instantaneously, refusing to let that idea sink in even for a second.

"I don't want to be your friend," he states strictly. "I don't trust you, and I don't want us to be friends. You let all those people step onto that train, let them crash to their death and burn up in flames. And I bet you were the one who _caused_ the train to derail in the first place."

She shakes her head insolently and says, "Like I know jack shit about how railroads operate, let's be serious here, please."

"Well, you obviously have connections because you know where I live…which you still owe me a proper explanation for, by the way."

"There's nothing to explain, and I owe you nothing," she tells him with a careless shrug of one shoulder. Indifferently, she twirls a strand of hair around her finger as if this is an everyday occurrence, like this sort of thing happens to her all the time. Perhaps it does, and that's why she's always so collected. "Listen, I'm a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them. I will never lie to you, and that's a promise, so just hear me out. I didn't cause the wreck, and I didn't follow you home. I just know things, okay?"

"What do you mean you _know_ things?"

"I can't tell you," she replies, chewing on her bottom lip for just a second. It's the first sign of apprehension on her part, and he's actually the slightest bit relieved to see that. At least he now knows she's human and capable of experiencing human-like emotions. "I can't tell you _yet_ anyways," she continues on. "You said you don't want to be my friend, and I'll respect your wishes, but if you do change your mind at some point, that's when I'd be happy to fill you in."

An ultimatum. That's what it all boils down to.

She's asking him for friendship, and in return she promises to provide answers. That's her compromise. He furrows his brow. The offer is almost tempting. Almost. But all of his fear and curiosity aside, it's not something he can agree to. Paul doesn't need a friend like her. And more importantly, he doesn't _want_ a friend like her. He already has friends, normal ones at that. But now that she's being more civil and less assertive, he supposes it's okay to be a wee bit grateful that she saved his life. Hey, at least she's not a terrorist. That's always a plus, right?

"I think I'll pass on that," he finally says to her, and he swears it's a look of dejection that appears on her face after hearing that. As if she cares. And even if she genuinely does, he's certain she'll get over it. She'll find better things to do, other people to bother…

"Well, the offer still stands at any time."

"I'll keep that in mind," Paul mumbles, his tone borderline sarcastic, which she of course picks up on.

"I'm sure you will. Anyways, I should get going. Have a nice rest of your day."

And just like this morning at the station, she turns around and walks off without another word. He doesn't know where she's going, but he curses himself for briefly wondering. He also wonders if she has a family, and if so, are they all…_different_, too? Different is a much more suitable word for her than crazy, because she can clearly engage in a normal conversation when she's up for one. Softly sighing, Paul realizes he still doesn't know her name, same like she doesn't know his. Or does she? Only time will tell…that is, _if_ he runs into her again…which he can only hope and pray doesn't happen. Well, at least there's one thing he knows for sure.

Running away is not the answer.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Woo, another update almost exactly one week from my last one! It's kind of short, but I think a lot of the chapters in this fic will be on the shorter side. Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, follows, etc. by the way, they mean a lot to me as always. And thanks so much to BITCH for all the reviews and for staying awake until 4 in the morning to fangirl over RAW with me. And let me just say, asawsdjjkfmerfjdmvvl at Stephanie and AJ tonight, ahhh! Hope you enjoy. :)

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**Chapter 3**

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"Hey, man, why so jumpy? It's Friday night…relax a little, would you!"

Friday night. The words sink in. Four days removed from the accident, and he's still not over it, nor should he be. He almost died, almost saw his life flash before his eyes, and that's not such an easy thing to accept and move on from. He may not ever be the same again at the rate things are progressing. Each time a few seconds pass without sound, he hears the murderous roar of the train against the tracks followed by lethal silence. And sometimes when he closes his eyes, when all you're supposed to see is black, he sees red. It's the color of the fire that rose from the burning debris, the color of the blood purging from innocent beings as they blinked their final blinks and breathed their final breaths. He keeps telling himself it could have been him blinking those blinks and breathing those breaths. It could have been his blood staining the tracks. Family members and friends, the friends he's with at this very moment, would have been mourning his death and perhaps making funeral arrangements by now…

But none of that is happening, and quite honestly, it's weird to fathom. Every single weekday for years he's taken the train, but he didn't on Monday, and now here he sits, unharmed and unscathed. Physically speaking at least. Mentally, he's certain he's attained scars that may never fade. Mostly, it's just that one, simple question that plagues his mind. It slays his conscience and taints his sanity. _Why him_? Why is _he_ still alive and all those others aren't?

Then he remembers that he would know by now if he really, truly, wholeheartedly wanted to know. All he had to do was befriend that strange brunette, even just pretend to be her friend for a little while. He's a good pretender, he thinks to himself. He could surely pull it off. After all, she's the only one that appears to know what's going on. The whole proposition seems so simple in reality, just being her friend and all, but there is still this part of him that won't allow that to happen. No, it's not that he's intimidated by her in any way, not at all. Is he skeptical? Of course. He's a cerebral thinker. He refuses to put himself in a position of vulnerability, a position where he lets his guard down for even the slightest second, making way for her to strike like a cobra.

Paul's thoughts slightly subside as his eyes dart to the drink in hand, and it's more than gratifying to know it contains a great deal of alcohol. Just what he needs right now. Presumably, it's the only thing that will alleviate his nerves and put some of these worries to rest. So when he raises the glass to his lips, he ensures to take a heavy swig before setting it back down on the bar countertop. The liquid burns his throat a tad, and it possesses a bitter aftertaste, but in this state of mind he hardly notices. Hardly _cares_ would be a more accurate description though. Only when his stare drifts upward does he become aware of the fretful sets of eyes all gaping back at him.

"What?" the brawny blonde scowls.

"Levesque," his friend, Brad, begins austerely. "You've been acting…not like yourself all night. What's up with that, man?" A small sigh escapes his lips because this is to be expected. He should have known that if anyone were to see through him, it would be these three guys right here, the guys that are his brothers in essence. They've been friends for what seems like forever and can all read one another like an open book. No one is immune to transparency. Tonight is no exception. Still, he has no desire to discuss what occurred this past Monday, so he might as well fight off their inquiries for as long as feasible.

"I'm fine," he lies. Whether he's convincing or not…well, he shall soon find out. But just to be safe, he adds on to the declaration. "It's just been one of those weeks at work, I guess. You guys know how my boss is forever getting on my case about random shit."

"The bitch is at it again?" Danny asks, sipping from his beer bottle nonchalantly. Paul nods, causing Danny to run his fingers through his dark, rugged strands in frustration. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Yeah, man, you know we always got your back. Want us to slip something in her coffee before the next meeting?" Brad suggests, a wicked gleam apparent in his gaze. Paul laughs at the thought of his excessively bitchy boss making a fool of herself in front of all the employees, supervisors and whomever, but he's cut off before he even gets the chance to voice his approval.

"Or," Chuck, the most ostensibly wasted of his pals, chimes in, "we could…put a beehive in her car!"

"Oh, no, no, no, do you not remember what happened the _last_ time we tried that one, Charles?"

At that, Paul chokes on his liquor and the memories come flooding back to him. Sure it wasn't their proudest moment, but hey, now they have a story to tell to future generations. Not to mention they can laugh at their idiocy on days like these. For a few minutes, he's actually able to forget about everything going on in his life right now.

"I don't…remember. Kindly…remind me, would you?" Chuck says to Danny, who's scrunching his face in sheer disbelief.

"You seriously can't recall us all ending up in the hospital for three days?"

"Oh, Daniel, I can't recall what…what I had for…lunch today!"

"That's what a couple cocktails will do for you, my friend," Brad pipes up.

"A couple?" Paul snorts. "A couple is like _two. _And two is bullshit...in Chuck's case at least."

"See, someone gets it!" Danny huffs out, tossing up his hands theatrically in the air before drinking from his own beverage.

"I'm not...not an alcoholic."

"Yeah, you are...but I mean, I guess not officially, since you don't attend AA meetings."

"Danny boy's got a point there," Paul chuckles.

"Though it may be a good idea to start going to those meetings...or at least look into a liver transplant."

"Hey, hey, hey…when did this conversation…turn into an…an intervention, huh?" The other three quit their snickering and all momentarily sit in utter silence. "Thought we were talking 'bout…'bout whatsername ruining…Paul's life?"

"Oh, who the fuck even cares anymore," Brad quips, his eyes drifting to the dance floor shamelessly, the same exact place they've been lured to all night. If there's anything that catches his fancy, it's a nice piece of ass, and no place is more perfect than here when it comes to just that. "It's Friday night, for crying out loud, boys! The kickoff to what we're going to make a fucking awesome weekened! Now instead of sitting around like a bunch of buzz kills, let's go land us some hot chicks and make the most of it!"

"I'm in," Danny and Chuck answer in unison. Brad nods, satisfied, and he directs his gaze to the quiet member of the group.

"What about you, Levesque?"

"Of course I'm in, just…" Paul's voice trails off slowly as he reaches down to his pocket, swearing he felt his phone vibrate several seconds ago. "Just go on without me for now, and I'll catch up with you guys in a few. Think I got a message or something."

"No problem," Brad tells him. "But don't take too long and then get pissed when the girls aren't interested in you 'cause they're all over me."

"Ha ha, you keep telling yourself that, Bradley."

A few more snarky remarks are exchanged before the trio ventures toward the mass of moving, grinding bodies underneath the strobe lights.

Once the guys are entirely out of sight and preoccupied elsewhere, Paul snatches up his phone and quickly keys in his pass code, all while wondering who the fuck tries to contact him at this incredulous hour. At any other time of day, he would ignore the message completely and get back to the person when and if he felt the need, but late night ones are an exception to that. There's always that outside chance that it could be genuinely important. God forbid it's his mother trying to get a hold of him regarding some family emergency or whatever. He would legitimately never live that one down with her.

But if it's his boss pestering him about something inconsequential, which it always is, he will find a way to block her number, and that's a guarantee. He's sick and tired of her endless shit. This isn't a 24/7 job. Getting chewed out at the office during work hours is one thing, and he doesn't like that one bit, but being bothered during the minimal off time he gets is something he definitely won't stand for. She needs to realize that he has a life outside of work, and he'd like to keep the two severed. He's actually smirking at first, prepared to be overcome by rage, but his mouth quickly molds into a puzzled frown.

To his surprise and partial dismay, the message received is from neither previously named suspect. At least he doesn't think it came from them. It's showing up as an unknown number, and he can't even tell what the area code is because there _is_ no number present. It just says it's unknown. He furrows his brow, frustrated.

But when the text finally opens and Paul is able to read it a few times over in his head, he now knows why it was sent anonymously.

_If you care about your friend's life, meet me outside the club in fifteen._

_Sent at 11:45PM. _


End file.
